


Return to Sender

by FeoplePeel



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Established Relationship, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:34:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4573455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/pseuds/FeoplePeel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Hawke riding that damn spider out of the fade. What? You thought that one spider would be enough to end him? He's Hawke and Kirkwall was a paradise for giant spiders. Varric punching him and then a massive party where everyone is drunk and they wake up naked in bed together with very little memory of how they got there, but not minding one bit. Or, well, any single piece of that if you don't want to do the whole thing. I'm just partial to a bromance between them that ignores that little line separating it from an actual romance, and them not caring really how many times they weave back and forth over it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return to Sender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DustToDust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/gifts).



> The prompter has a great headcanon for this you can find on their tumblr, under the Hawke tag! I really enjoyed reading about it and I hope you like what came out of my brain as a result :D!

The Inquisition had beaten Corypheus. That’s why Garrett Hawke _knew_ they’d be back at Skyhold when he arrived.

Celebrations were well underway when he shouldered open one of its large, oak doors and walked (well, limped was a more accurate descriptor) into the hall. A few heads turned and the noise dimmed slightly for those who knew what was going on.

“Carry on, please, don’t stop on my account.”

Varric hadn’t been looking at the door, but those words, said in that airy tone had him whipping around so fast he nearly fell out of his seat.

“Hawke?”

“Varric!”

Hawke’s legs carried him across the room before Varric had the time to collect himself. He scooped Varric up in a hug and, after a stunned moment of immobility from the dwarf, felt two hands grab at the fabric on his back.

Varric sounded more than a little choked up when he found his voice. “Andraste’s ass, I should have known.”

Had the Rift not been closed, the Inquisition considered (largely) a success, and Leliana the new Divine, Hawke would have faced a fair few problems appearing, as if by magic, after being left for dead in the Fade.

Likely he’d have been questioned, studied, thrown in a cell, if only to make sure he wasn’t possessed. But Cole vouched for him and, after the shit they’d been through, no wanted the celebration to end.

And Varric looked so happy.

So instead, Josephine ordered the man, still covered in filth (honestly, had he not stopped by any body of water), upstairs to bathe.

Upon his return to the hall, everyone gave him a surprisingly wide berth except, of course, for Varric. They sat, together, at a table in one of the corners and a little away from the rest of the crowd.

“How did you,” Varric made a vague gesture in the air with his hand that Hawke took to mean, ‘escape-the-giant-spider-and-make-your-way-through-a-rift-from-nothing-out-of-the-Fade’. It mostly looked like ‘wipe-a-window’. “It doesn’t matter. Where have you been?”

“I came straight here.” Hawke shrugged, throwing back his drink. “Maybe time passes differently, in the Fade. I hope I haven’t aged too many years while I was there. Do you see wrinkles?”

Varric plucked out one of Hawke’s hair and showed it to him with a mournful expression. “Look. A grey.”

Hawke slapped his hand. “Liar.”

“Guilty.” Varric’s grin was unrepentant.

They watched the hall in companionable silence. Not much had changed about the place, in Hawke’s estimation, though the cast of smaller characters had rotated. His eyes landed on Cadash, looking into her cup with a concern that did not seem to fit on the face of one who had saved them all from certain destruction.

Or perhaps it fit too well.

“The Inquisitor said you died a hero.” Varric scoffed. “I was so angry.”

“Did she tell you I volunteered?”

“She didn’t have to.” Varric sighed and, after a moment, punched him on the arm a little harder than necessary. “Don’t...don’t do that again.”

* * *

They didn't stay in the hall long. Hawke didn't  _really_ want to speak to anyone and Varric could see him fraying around the edges.

He remembered, after the Deep Roads, the late nights both would spend at the Hanged Man just to avoid the nightmares. Hawke never wanted to go back home on a good day and, with Gamlen’s face waiting, who could blame him? The nights they didn’t stay at the bar until the sun rose, Hawke would crash in Varric's bed, sometimes reading and making smug comments about his latest draft, sometimes simply talking. And Varric would let him because it was better than being alone.

Hawke did the latter, now, spreading out immediately over the lavish _thing_ Varric had brought in (and Josephine had not even questioned why some noble from the Orlesian court was sending Varric a bed after their trip to Halamshiral). Varric sat at his desk, pulled out a stack of papers and began, immediately, to write.

“You’re not tired?” Hawke raised his head to ask.

“I am.” Varric narrowed his eyes at the paper and, after a moment, pulled out a pair of spectacles before continuing. Hawke was torn between cooing at the sight, and laughing outright. “I told everyone you were dead. I should probably let them know you’re...not.”

Hawke sat up, pillow held to his stomach. “You had to do that?”

“Who else was going to?”

A shadow fell over Varric and, when he looked up, Hawke was there, leaning down to kiss his brow.

“I’m sorry.” Hawke said, leaning back.

“Like I said,” Varric pulled him forward by the collar of his shirt, holding their foreheads together. “Don’t do it again.”

* * *

Hawke woke slowly, feeling more calm than he had in weeks. He rolled over under the covers and realised that Varric must have finished his letters and crawled into bed at some point. He was settled comfortably, and warm, against Hawke’s side and his breath came out in relaxed, steady, puffs.

Hawke wondered how well Varric had been sleeping, since he had disappeared into the Fade and, to his friend’s mind, forever.

Hawke threw an arm over Varric’s chest, thoroughly interrupting the peaceful image, and squeezed his bicep until he felt him stir to wakefulness.

“ _Yes_ , Hawke?”

“Hug me.”

Varric groaned. Hawke noticed his hair was down and he moved his head to blow a few strands out of his face. Varric’s eyes cracked open, only slightly to look down his nose. “Did you take your clothes off?”

Hawke buried in face in Varric’s shoulder. “You use too many sheets.”

“We’re on a mountain, Hawke. How are you not freezing?”

“I spent _months_ in the Anderfels. Do you know how cold nights get there?” He raised an eyebrow and Varric made a face.

“Ugh, deserts. Almost as bad as caves…”

“Besides, clothes are optional when celebrating!” Hawke rose onto his elbow and winced at the pain behind his eyes from last night’s ale. “Ow.”

“Too bad headaches aren't.” Varric sighed, bringing a hand up to bury his fingers in Hawke’s hair and scratch his scalp. “There’re tonics in the cabinet.”

Hawke smiled brilliantly, leaping from the bed to grab one one and opening the balcony window to stand outside while he drank the noxious draught. He breathed deeply, letting light and fresh air into the room.

Garrett had always been obnoxiously _awake_ in the morning. And somehow, always cheerful.

"You know that window faces the gardens?" He heard Varric say behind him,

"I know.” Hawke put his hands on his hips. “Good view."

"I'm sure the people down there are enjoying themselves."

"What? Oh!" Hawke moved, quickly, to cover himself and backed into the room, shutting the glass door behind him.

"Have you scarred poor Mother Giselle?" Varric asked, eyes closed and chuckling through his nose.

"I think she looked quite impressed."

"Of course you do."

"Well you never wrote about it in your book.” Hawke moved to sit on the bed, close to Varric again. “It's one of the only things that's always a surprise when someone sees!"

Varric's laughter, this time, was from his stomach and far more boisterous.

"I'm glad you're back, Hawke."

Hawke tilted his head, smiling. "Me too."

"Now put on some clothes."


End file.
